Intersections

Lise,

The path to your house is covered
by snow. The same snow I saw
swept into the corner of your room
when you had me over for company.

The tea we drank tasted
like it tastes now, only then it spilled
into my cold hands like a dancing flame. What if
I just want to use you, you ask.

There are romances etched
into the cherry-finished floorboards,
sketches of love made in rearrangements
of chairs. Then use me, I answer.

In the silent house, its roof still on,
we learn our real names. You lead me
to the desk, where the chair is turned
to the window, and tell me to write

and so I write until my eyes
can't say another word. You mark your place
in my words with an old birthday card
and turn out the lights.

Lise, there is snow falling on your mirror.
It isn't cold or wet, but soon you may be
fast asleep, under an avalanche, dreaming
of pastures and my dark brown eyes.

Sincerely,

Reviews

[victoria]

this is stunning....I had this feeling of being used how after you can see the good in the bad...well for me being used comes with an exquisite tendency to have 'no expectation...we just give ourselves over ...a most palpable read, felt deeply, the imagery with the tea, the touches of warmth in this painful cold, then glimpses, such was the slither of sentiment seen within it in this line ''....mark your place with an old birthday card...'' superb.

[Emily B]

i am generally fairly confident in my own abilities, poetry like this makes me wonder if i ever really had 'it'

it took my breath away

[p.kuhl]

what a compliment!...thank you

[KeelyJane]

Touching and beautiful. Well penned my friend. Lovely.